


Designs

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23603089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Oikawa took in a breath as he watched the crimson swirls fade into appearance on his arm. They started on his pale wrist, dark and light red curves spiraling into birds and hearts and suns.Please, please, please mind the tags.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 78





	Designs

Oikawa took in a breath as he watched the crimson swirls fade into appearance on his arm. They started on his pale wrist, dark and light red curves spiraling into birds and hearts and suns. They crawled their way to his forearm and the red graduated into a deeper shade, and a few marks that almost looked like drip marks appeared along with what looked like smudges. 

His soulmate did this often, these beautiful red paintings on his arms, legs, and stomach. Alot of his friends and teammates were impressed, or jealous, always asking to see if more were added. The designs were always so intricate, so  _ beautiful. _ His soulmate must be an artist, so  _ talented.  _ The art was so  _ beautiful _ . 

  
  


And they were beautiful. But Oikawa hated them, hated seeing them. He  _ knew _ what they were. He knew in the way they never fully disappeared. In the way that, even when his soulmate would stop drawing the designs for a while, they always stayed, paling into dark tan or thin white lines. It wasn’t until he was 15 that he put the peices together, figuring out that all of these pretty designs that had been showing up since he was 13  _ were carved into the skin of his soulmate. _ He was eating lunch with his best friend Iwaizumi, talking about the volleyball game that was on the night before, when Iwaizumi had asked if there were any new pictures. At the time, the lines were much less smooth, barely more than than jagged spirals. Oikawa had proudly nodded and rolled up his hoodie’s sleeve, showing an edged drawing of what looked like a crow. Underneath it were thin white lines outlining what used to be dark red hearts.

_ “Hey, those look kind of like scars.” _

__ _ “Silly Iwa-chan, how are hearts scars?” _

__ _ “That’s not what I meant, idiot.” _

That night, when Oikawa was changing, he looked in the mirror. He knew he kenw he knew he knew and  _ all these beautiful designs were carved into skin they were cut into his soulmates skin his soulmate sliced through their own skin. _ Every crimson spiral, every pretty red design, was  _ carved into the skin of his soulmate.  _ The brunette fell onto his knees. _ The red _ , Oikawa realized while he threw up violently in front of his mirror,  _ was blood. _

  
  
  


It was horrifying. Sometimes, carved deep into his soulmate’s side and thighs, appearing on Oikawa’s own skin, were horrible and vulgar words and slurs.  _ SLUT. WEAK. FAGGOT.  _ These appeared when he was 16.

The night that  _ KILL YOURSELF  _ was etched into his soulmate’s skin a few months after those words started, he threw up again. He stared hysterically crying; sobs had racked his entire body as he shook. The words were jagged and deliberate on his soulmate’s inner thigh. Lines of red that were definitely drops of blood falling down his soulmate’s leg sent violent shivers up and down his spine. Shaking and sobbing, he had called his best friend.

_ “I’m going to kill him.” Iwaizumi’s voice was deadly low and serious when he stormed into Oikawa’s room, and saw the disturbing carvings. _

_ “W-wha-at NO! Why-y w-wou-would y-” Oikawa managed to choke out in between sobs. _

_ “Look at you! Don’t take those things he wrote seriously, you know they aren’t true.”  _ Oh, _ the setter had thought.  _ He thinks my soul make is writing in marker, calling me and telling me these horrible things. 

_ “H-hajime, my soulmate n-needs h-h-help.” _

_ “They do not,” Iwaizumi had barked firmly. “They don’t deserve, making you like this. I don’t care what hell they’re in that makes them think this is okay, that makes it okay to tell you those things, but you’re having some kind of breakdown because of them and if I ever meet them, they’re dead.” _

  
  
  


Now, Oikawa was 20 years old. He still had yet to meet his soulmate.

A little over a year ago, the carvings and the cuts abruptly stopped, fading into thin scars that wrapped around his body. After a full two months of  _ nothing, _ Oikawa didn’t know whether to panic that his soulmate was  _ dead _ , or be happy that his soulmate had stopped mutilating their body. He got questions about the overlapping scars ever day. He stopped breaking out into tears whenever he was asked about them when he was almost 19. He had taken therapy for years, and was finally able to stop going.

  
  
  
  
  


Oikawa was 21 years old, and finally knew that his soulmate wasn’t dead. 

He was laying on his bed in his and Iwaizumi’s college dorm, one arm lazily draped over his eyes, and the other hanging off the side of the mattress. After the last of the words and designs- the fucking  _ carvings _ \- had dissipated into intricate scars, there was nothing. Not even a single bruise, not a single word. Oikawa had never tried reaching out, either; he told himself it was because his soulmate had a lot on their plate, evidently, and that interfering in any way, even with a greeting wouldn’t help. He told himself that if he reached out, his soulmate might think that Oikawa wanted to find them, pursue them the way soulmates do. He told himself his soulmate was the one that wouldn’t be able to handle that, not him.

But, that one lazy Saturday, when the sunlight was just starting to spill through the window, there were unmistakable letters. Thick, bold lines resting on his forearm. They were a vibrant blue, and looked smeared and cracked. 

Paint.

When Oikawa opened his eyes and was forced to see the bright blue words, the air caught in his throat with a painful choke. His eyes blew impossibly wide, and he let out an actual  _ scream. _

“ _ HOLY SHIT, _ what the hell, Tooru?” Oikawa just gaped, not able to form words. What words could possibly fit? 

“OI! Hello? You-  _ oh. _ ” Iwaizumi’s voice softened. “You… you didn’t write on yourself.”   


The words weren’t a question, they were a recognition. Oikawa nodded dumbly.

  
  


_ I am so sorry _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
